Like this:

I’ve been pondering over the many years of research I have done and why I am still lagging on putting the information in a recognizable order. It would seem as if I am making it harder on myself than it truly needs to be. Why? Self sabotage has kinda been a hinderance in my life. When ever I am really good at something I tend to cause a wrinkle for myself. Am I scared of losing what I am so good-by the hand of someone else…maybe. Or am I chicken shit? hmmm also maybe. As I look at my bookshelf filled with notebooks of my notes and what would seem useless to anyone other than me, holds true gold. Knowledge of me finding myself within a digital age. Years where I didn’t leave the house because I was trying to cypher the inner workings of a passage that caught my eye…. I think I enjoy the Quest itself. Maybe the reason why I am unable or unwilling to write out what I know is fear of someone saying my quest was a waste of time. Thinking this truly hurts my heart. As it would any artist, musician, or author. This is a SHITTY feeling. Wow…. I don’t want to be scared of someone not understanding or not believing what I create. I want to be bold and unashamed of the ideas and thoughts that are constantly rushing through my veins. Thats when I read this passage from Elbert Hubbard’s Scrapbook. He brought me back to a place where for a moment i dont feel so alone.

Keats’ dream of ” a very pleasant life.”

” I had an idea that a Man might pass a very pleasant life in this manner: Let him on a certain day read a certain page of full Posey or distilled Prose, and let him wander with it, and muse upon it, and reflect from it, and dream upon it: until it becomes stale– But when will it do so? Never– When a man/woman has arrived at a certain ripeness in intellect any one grand and spiritual passage serves him as a starting-post towards all the ‘two-and-thirty Palaces’ How happy is such a voyage of conception, what delicious, diligent indolence !”

Keats’ Explained perfectly how I am feeling….that delicious bounce of joy when something hits a sense that causes everything within starts firing rapidly. I waited for this to get stale and fade away, but it has only gotten strong and more focused. This is what It feels like for me when I find some sort of knowledge that interests me. Seeing from all points of view without judgment or fear just following the imagination and what might be left out from what is already known. I start backwards.

So I say again. Maybe My dream is the Quest. The quest of wanting knowledge and answers where others say there is none. What I truly know is, ” I Have a Dream!”

Twilight was misty and cold in California that night as I stood outside my father’s house. I was 16 holding only a small brown leather purse with a few dollars. I Stared at the unlit door, knowing once again I had disappointed my family. I thought about what would happen once I walked in late for curfew once more.

My step mother would yell and a call would be made to what ever part of the world my father happen to be for his job. I could imagine the look on their faces; disappointment and Anger. But it was the faces of my younger half sisters that caused me to delay walking in.

Knowing they would hear the fighting and be awoken from their dreams. That me, their bigger sister had been the cause of their life turning upside down for the past 8 months since I moved in.

Right then and there I decided to walk away. Where would I go?

My grandmother lived just across the Street yet I had once already been dragged from her house. Being told my home was through that unlit door.

My mother and step father 3000 miles away. What was I doing?

In my twisted teenage mind, I thought I was saving them. Saving them from myself. The only way I knew to protect their hearts was to remove the problem, which was me.

So into the night I walked without saying goodbye, without looking back.

My heart-broken for the house light that wasn’t lit.

If they only knew just how much that light would have meant to me.

Maybe. Just maybe I wouldn’t have followed the street lights that promised a home.